John Watson: Funsized
by Remy Beauregarde
Summary: John needs help to reach the top shelf. Sherlock goes to buy groceries and rubs in his height. Chapters 2 and 3 are up, please review!
1. Chapter 1

***AN: Helpful criticism is appreciated. Just don't be rude. I'm actually quite sensitive. If I've misspelled ANYTHING or something doesn't make sense please review and I'll make sure to fix it as soon as possible. Thanks ~ Remy B.**

It was always the height difference that annoyed John. Yes, there were the untamable experiments but when he had to put something on the top shelf he resented how the height genes had been liberally applied to him. On the bright side, at least there was one person in the entire flat who could reach the top shelf without help.

Sherlock never failed to find amusement when John sighed and shoved whatever needed placement beyond his reach into Sherlock's face. It always occurred when John bought groceries. Except when he had rows with the chip and pin machine at Tescos.

He would ask, "Really John? _Another_ row?"

To which John would reply, "Yes, well why don't _you_ go and buy the bloody groceries for once!"

One day after this exchange, Sherlock got up and swept out the door with his coat swishing about his legs. John stood for a moment, frozen. _Did he really just decide buying groceries wasn't so menial a task for him?_

John shook himself and got out his laptop. This was definitely going on his blog.

…

Thirty minutes later Sherlock returned laden with bags. He grinned at John on his way to the kitchen. Once he dumped the bags on the counter. John stared a moment before tapping out a few closing words to his blog entry. After closing his laptop he walked over to the kitchen and stood in the doorway. He watched as Sherlock put everything away. As John continued watching he realized that Sherlock had a system going. He put the cold things away first, then the packaged dry goods, and lastly to John's _huge_ annoyance canned items which went in the top most shelves.

When Sherlock picked up the last can he stared at John as he placed it in the cupboard. John knew that he was rubbing in his height advantages.

"Shut up, Sherlock."

Sherlock's expression changed to confusion. "I didn't say anything."

"You were thinking it. It's annoying." With that John turned and went to his room. He decided that he would come up with a way to show Sherlock the advantages of being short…

Strike that. John Watson was _not_ short, he was fun-sized.

*** Thank you for spending your valuable time reading this. I apologize for its shortness. We'll see if the next will be a bit longer.**


	2. Chapter 2

**I apologize sincerely for being lazy. If you could ever find it within you to forgive me, I would be very grateful. Please enjoy this long overdue chapter. ~ Remy B.**

They were on a case the first time John's height came to be an advantage to him.

They had gone to a suspect's estate to question her about the murder of her brother's wife. The lady of the house had just walked down the steps when Sherlock and John pulled up in a cab. As they climbed out the lady recognized them and took off running. She had a head start and wasn't wearing heels, but Sherlock had long legs and John was determined not to be left in his friend's dust.

As they chased after her they found that she was a fast runner. Sherlock, of course, had known that she had been on the track team at her school and had stuck to running after she graduated. "_Which was only six years ago,"_ Sherlock deduced silently. Once they hit the tree line they started to gain on her. John was surprised when he got ahead of Sherlock, but he understood why as soon as he heard a _thwack_ and a heavy thud as Sherlock landed flat on his back.

They were surrounded by peculiar trees that had branches that started about six feet from the ground. John, who was 5' 8", had no trouble going under. Sherlock cut it close twice before the third branch smacked him in the face and floored him. John stopped and looked at Sherlock who yelled, "Hurry! Don't let her go: she did it!"

John jerked back around and caught a glimpse of short red hair as the lady disappeared into a bunch of trees. He decided that if he didn't get her in five minutes then he would come back to Sherlock. It was a quick decision so John didn't lose much time in taking off through the trees in pursuit. It took two of those minutes for him to come in sight of the lady. She was thirty yards ahead.

Mustering his energy, John put on a burst of speed and overtook her within a minute – give or take. John reached out, grabbed her arm, and tugged. That's when the lady tripped and they landed in a tangled pile. Both of them had their breath driven out; John's by the lady's elbow, the lady's by John landing on top of her.

"Ugggh," she groaned under John's weight, "You're bloody heavy. What do you do all day, eat?"

John rolled his eyes. He knew he wasn't very heavy and anyway this lady he was sitting on was about the same size as him. If nothing else she could take more of his weight than he had on her. She had red hair and a couple freckles on her face; one an inch from her nose, and the other in the right corner of her top lip.

Before John made any more observations, Sherlock came charging into view. He slowed as he came upon them.

"Well done, John! I knew you could catch any woman you set your sights on." Sherlock tried for a joke.

He failed. "Shut up, Sherlock. You took your time coming after us."

"Yes, well, I knew you could handle it." Really, he did. Catching a woman was John's forte. It was keeping one that made Sherlock get up and follow as soon as he could. (That branch had been pretty hell-bent on making that one hit count since the other two branches had failed.)

John decided that the lady wouldn't run again so he got up and took her hand, pulling her up after him. He kept a firm hold on her wrist, just in case.

"John, meet Ms. Jane Ansley McManus, murderer." As Sherlock introduced the lady John thought how humorous it was that her initials spelt J.A.M. He connected that with her red hair and smiled at the result.

Strawberry jam.

And that stayed with him until they went home to Baker Street.

Sherlock was stretched out on the couch while John sat at the desk typing up the case. He had just started since they had gotten takeaway for dinner and eaten it while it was still fairly warm.

As he recounted Sherlock getting pimp slapped by a tree branch he realized something. He had gone under _before_ Sherlock. He didn't get hit by the branch because he was shorter than it! He turned to Sherlock and said:

"I didn't get hit."

Sherlock paused while he remembered the events of the day before finding the one that was relevant to John's comment. His face soured.

"Yes, John. Your vertical challenging saved your face from being smacked by a branch. Good for you."

"But you ran right into one."

"How astute of you."

"I caught the killer because I could pass under the branches easily."

"Is this payback because of the top shelf thing?"

John just smiled and returned to his typing. Let Sherlock think what he would. John had found the first advantage of being fun-size.

**Strawberry jam, you ask? I'm not exactly sure either. But I was thinking about how John is made of jam and I just thought I could slip that in unnoticed…**

**You noticed? Oh, well, sorry if you were confused. I am too. I may do a story on Strawberry jam since it's my favorite kind.**

**Why did I capitalize Strawberry? If anyone could tell me that would be very nice. Thank you. Please review and tell me what you think, especially about the jam.**


	3. Chapter 3

**Enjoy the third chapter. If there's any mistakes or you're unsure about my phrasing feel free to gently correct me or ask questions. I'll be more than happy to answer. I hope I've got everyone in character for the most part. If not, I apologize. Thank you. ~ Remy B.**

The second advantage of John's height came in the form of a flying tea cup.

John had gone to Harry's for a visit and had mistakenly brought Sherlock. He had promised under penalty of no experiments for a month to be on his best behavior. Not like he wouldn't try to sneak a small one anyway, but Sherlock knew John would stay true to his threat.

Upon entering Harry's flat, John gave him a look that reminded him of his promise. When they saw Harry coming from the kitchen John looked once more at Sherlock before Harry hugged him tightly and looked him up and down.

"You look good, Johnny. And you aren't using your cane! That's good."

"Yeah, Sherlock cured me of my limp." John hoped Harry wouldn't read into that since there really wasn't anything to be read other than appreciation.

"You look good, too." And she did. What got John's notice was that she was wringing her hands when she wasn't holding or gesturing to something. He was afraid of what it might mean so he let it go.

Harry showed them into the living room where three teacups were waiting on the coffee table.

As John sat on the sofa Harry offered her hand to Sherlock. There was a small pause that was almost awkward and a bit tense. But it past when Sherlock took her hand in his. It held for ten seconds before they both let go and Harry gestured for him to sit next to John. He nodded to her and sat.

The conversation was carried mostly by Harry and John. Sherlock let his gaze wonder over the flat sometimes catching on photographs of John and Harry when they were younger. One photograph in particular caught his interest and he interrupted to ask about it.

Harry turned to look over her shoulder and when she saw it she went to pick it up.

She smiled.

It was a picture of Clara, Harry, and John in front of a Christmas tree in their parents' home. They were all smiling and John had that awful jumper on.

Harry returned to her seat and gave the picture to Sherlock.

"That was taken a couple years before Clara and I –," she stopped. It was still painful.

"Turns out drinking drives people away. No matter what I did I couldn't stop. She left me. First it was John. Away to the military. Then it was her. Everyone always leaves me." Harry was getting angry, fast.

She stood abruptly and went into the kitchen with her teacup. John, who was still able to hear pretty well, heard the familiar cling of Harry's crystal whiskey jar. When he heard her knock the jar against her cup he jumped up and hurried to her.

He grabbed her shoulder and spun her around.

"Harry, you promised!"

"Yeah?! Well you promised me you would never leave me!"

John backed away. He wasn't going through this again. They had both broken their promises. But Harry wasn't finished. She was just getting started.

She threw back the whiskey and refilled her cup.

"Harry, stop it! It's not too late to start over."

"SHUT UP, JOHN! YOU SHOULD'VE STAYED!"

"I couldn't! I couldn't watch you drown yourself in liquor. And I wanted to serve. I had to, it was my duty."

At that Harry froze, the teacup an inch from her lips.

"I'm sorry, Harry."

She snapped.

Now you know how the teacup was sent flying and John was glad he was so short. He dropped to one knee as the ill-fated china sailed over his head…and hit Sherlock squarely in the chest. John craned his neck to see this happen and wondered if it was a bit too late for:

"Vatican cameos?"

John straightened and offered a smile at Sherlock who stared at the broken teacup on the floor. The whiskey soaked the front of his shirt which, thankfully, _wasn't_ the Purple shirt.

On the way back to the flat John apologized to Sherlock for Harry's behavior.

"It doesn't matter. I never really liked this shirt. It's a strange off-white colour." Sherlock tried to joke again which made John smile. He wondered why his friend was trying to find the lighter side of the evening.

"Still, we did get at least one thing from going to your sister's flat."

John had an idea where this was going. His smile grew as he said "Yeah, what?"

"You're so short you only had to drop to your knee to avoid smelling like bloody whiskey," Sherlock grumbled.

Okay, so maybe he wasn't thinking _that_ exactly, but it was close enough.

"_Yeah, that's another advantage to being fun-size,"_ he thought.


End file.
